


Lessons

by redluna



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Halward Pavus' A+ Parenting, M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25236010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redluna/pseuds/redluna
Summary: Omegas, Dorian knows, have a very specific set of expectations. All of which, apparently, his new husband wants to toss right out the window.
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 7
Kudos: 128





	Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those projects that got entirely away from me, but which, honestly, there might be more of because I love this world.
> 
> Originally started as a response to an a/b/o prompt on tumblr: "Come I'll give you a bath to wash the slick away."

Dorian had never been allowed to the illusion that what he was—or, at the very least, what he  _ represented _ —didn’t come with its own set of rules. How often he chafed beneath the severity of them didn’t matter, even if he did spend a considerable amount of time trying to rebel against them.

All it earned him was the label of troublemaker. Something of a titillation for those around them, who apparently enjoyed watching his father’s schemes be knocked down a peg through the actions of the very son he was trying to use for them. Had he not been forced to bear the brunt of his father’s rage over such matters, Dorian might have been just as inclined towards laughter.

As it turned out, however, all of it had made him complacent in a way he hadn’t expected. He might have made himself out to be an undesirable match in Tevinter, after all, but that didn’t eliminate other players from the board.

Still, no one would have been able to predict how the diplomatic meeting with the latest inheritor of the title of ruler among the warlord bands could go. 

It was necessary to appease them, of course, to keep their borders safe. But, despite how the upper echelons might bicker, it had always been things easy enough to give away. Gold that lined many coffers already or simply materials rarer to receive down below then to the north.

So, honestly, King Alistair’s response to Halward’s question of whether there was anything else they could want should have been taken exactly as it was—a jest.

Certainly no one could take in the sly curve to the man’s mouth, the way his eyes sparked with amusement to see his right hand man blushing even now when he tried to look at Dorian, and not understand the words weren’t meant to be serious.

And yet when the king had replied with, “Your son?” all Halward had done was nod before offering a quick, “Very well.”

Alistair had rushed to come up with the denial that Dorian was too shell-shocked to manage himself, but Halward had simply pretended not to hear. He had signed away his son—Dorian’s entire  _ future _ —in the few quick scratches of a quill.

The marriage proposal flattered his side more than it should by rights, enough so that even the slaves had raised eyebrows over it, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Because it didn’t matter how much care Cullen Rutherford was inclined to show. Didn’t matter how the mouth that had dropped to his throat for the bite that would bind them had still been the first warmth he had been able to encounter in the south.

None of it could change what all of this represented—shackles, a life as little more than a vessel for heirs.

So, when night finally fell, Dorian did his best not to focus on the broad spread of Cullen’s shoulders or how the flickering light from the fireplace cast his already devastating features into sharp relief.

“Dorian…” Cullen sucked in a breath as though struck when Dorian flinched back from the hand he outstretched. “I won’t do anything without your permission.”

“You have it already,” Dorian somehow managed to reply through a dry mouth. “That’s what the marriage contract is for.”

“Maker, I should hope not.” Cullen actually managed a laugh, however strained, when Dorian could only blink at him. “Despite whatever stories you might have heard, I have no intentions of ravishing you against your will. I have no interest in laying with a partner who can find no joy from it.”

“They will…” It wasn’t often that Dorian found himself at a loss for words, let alone tripping over his own, but Cullen’s gaze on him was entirely too heavy. The struggle to keep his eyes anywhere else was enough of a struggle, let alone managing to say something clever. “They will expect children.”

Of all things, Dorian wasn’t expecting Cullen to  _ shrug _ .

“There are children enough for the clan already,” he said. “Even without the wards or orphans that come under our charge. Besides, that would be quite the expectation to place on you while you are still finding your footing—more than enough reason to wait.”

Somewhere along the way, Dorian must have received quite the impressive blow to the head. That, at least, could explain how the room itself seemed to sway as all of his assumptions were thrown upside down, if not straight out the window.

“But that’s the whole point of what I—”

Dorian’s jaw locked up tight at the flash of steel in Cullen’s eyes, yet it was gone in the next blink replaced by the other man turning away with a sigh to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

“Maker above, is  _ that _ what they’ve been teaching you?”

There was no reason for Dorian to speak up. His home country had certainly never shown him any loyalty, after all. But, all the same, the flaws it held didn’t keep it from being  _ his _ . And, in a place like this, under such unfamiliar circumstances, that was more than enough to cling to.

“There is an importance to what I represent,” was what he came to. “Something of substance that only I can pass on. Why wouldn’t that be important to teach?”

“If it was taught as such then surely,” Cullen replied, “I could accept it. If any child you have is half as clever as you, it’d be a blessing.”

Dorian swallowed hard around what welled up inside of him at the compliment, still knowing better than to allow himself to cave over little more than kind words. There was far more that he could pass down to any child of his, after all.

“And my magic?”

For that, Cullen had no quick, easy rejoinder. Instead, his eyes found the fire, hard enough to make Dorian shudder, no matter how heated the room was. 

When the words finally did come, they were slow, as each had to be spoken with considerable effort. In a way, however, it only made them seem more valuable.

“It would still be a part of you, something you would help nurture and love. I think I could love it for that alone.” Then, as though Dorian wasn’t currently blinking back the tears that burned at the corners of his eyes, Cullen rose from the bed. “But, for now, there’s a rather promising lounge couch.”

“What?” Dorian forgot all intent to stay away in his made scramble to sit up properly, eyes wide. “People will talk!” He shot Cullen a narrowed eyed look when the man only managed two long blinks before having to press a fist to his mouth to suppress a snort of laughter. “It isn’t funny! Just… Just get in bed already, you barbarian.”

Those weren’t the words Omegas were meant to use with their Alphas. By rights, Dorian shouldn’t have even dared to raise his voice. But, despite how inclined Dorian’s heart was to try to beat straight out of his chest as Cullen grew closer, the man only slid beneath the assortment of blankets and furs with a smile that held a fondness that made no sense.

“As my lord commands then,” was the far too purring reply.

Dorian could only hope that his answering nod wasn’t too jerky in its movement. The delight that still warmed the eyes of the man at his side seemed to suggest otherwise, though.

But it wasn’t until Dorian had allowed himself to slip into the nest of furs himself, that Cullen spoke again, each breath catching on the back of Dorian’s neck like a caress, despite how far apart they were in the bed.

“I am far more yours to take charge of than the other way around, remember that.”

And, of course, the bastard had to doze off before Dorian could come up with a fitting response to that nonsense.

*

The south, Dorian was quick to realize, was exactly as odd as everyone had always claimed. Except, of course, for the irony that it was that way for none of the reasons he had heard spread about in the gossip back home.

No one, it would seem, had heard of proper spices, for all that the food tended to spread the same comfortable, solid warmth throughout a person as their homes somehow managed to.

The structures of those homes, and the lives within them, seemed to be paramount here as well. Everything was discussed in the open, with results such as an actual  _ brawl _ being dismissed as perfectly natural. So long as it allowed the parties involved to stand up at the end to shake hands with one another again then all was considered well.

There should have been no reason for the same to be extended to him, however. Not with how his bemoaning over styles never ceased to garner eyerolls or from how, within only a few days of living there, he had been pinned down by at least four different clan mothers who insisted on outfitting him “properly” for the weather.

He still wanted to blush whenever he remembered how utterly without shame one had declared that, while his husband might be quite pleased to see so much of him, he would be far less satisfied were he to catch a true bite of cold.

The last thing he had expected to elicit from any member of the southern clans was an urge for care. Not with the magic that he still wielded with far too much familiarity for a place such as this.

But any stares or hushed whispers he had to endure were far outweighed by those that approached him with wide eyed, hopeful fascination.

Trying to piece it together to Cullen had only had the other man laughing. Apparently such things mattered little when their king had taken for a consort a mage of his own—one who outplayed them all in her reforms.

When Dorian had continued to sputter, to press, Cullen had only sighed, reaching over to brush his knuckles over the curve of Dorian’s cheek until he stilled.

“People can talk all they want. I will not bend for them.”

And that, truth be told, lead straight to the most confusing aspect about the south—his husband.

If one were to listen to the tittering tidbits that the clan members passed among them, it would be easy to think of Cullen as a man smitten. Apparently even Varric, a dwarf ever underfoot despite being the member of an entirely different clan, was already penning a ballad just for that purpose.

It was as though they couldn’t see that Cullen left him alone except for when custom demanded it. That, even during those times, he was, while free enough with his touches, never anything short of polite, never taking the openings Dorian took such care to stage.

Even in their bedroom, where Dorian was eternally grateful no one could see, the man made sure to keep as much as distance as possible between them.

The worst of it was that he had no idea who he was meant to  _ talk _ to about such things.

Any of the letters he had sent northward—each in careful code to befuddle prying eyes—were still waiting on responses. Not to mention almost everyone about down here had at least some fondness or, at the very least, respect for Cullen. It was something he would have found sweet, if it weren’t proving to be such a hindrance.

It was already hard enough to imagine actually airing such marital concerns. That such things could then be carried immediately to his husband’s ears was enough to silence him before he could even find a way to begin.

At the end of the day, all this meant that there was no one around to keep him from slipping into the habits that had gotten him into trouble in the first place. Any possible concerns were easy enough to shrug off with the foreknowledge that he wouldn’t even be reduced to this if it weren’t for his supposed husband. The rest of it could be blamed on the ale that was never in short supply around here and which seemed to race through him faster than any of the wines back home.

Besides, no one could claim that he hadn’t chosen a suitable target for his interests.

The Iron Bull, or his band of mercenaries, didn’t seem to have any set allegiance amongst the various clans, although, at least for now, it was the Inquisitor’s branch that was lining their coffers. It left them with the best stories to tell, from places both within Dorian’s own homeland and far beyond.

It helped matters, certainly, that Bull happened to be easy on the eyes and, even better, the only person seemingly not at all concerned about flirting back.

The rumble of hushed voices that came in the wake of it mattered for little when Dorian had long since had the time to grow used to such things hounding his every step. Even excluding that, it wasn’t as though he was unaware of his boundaries. Ones that Bull seemed just as aware of, if how his touches never went above Dorian’s elbow or dropped below his waist were any hint.

No amount of flattery was about to let him forget the bite that still stung like a brand. Or would anyone else, it would seem.

It should have been expected that some well-meaning clan member would come to break them up eventually. The ale, at least, Dorian was assured would soothe any scoldings he was sure to have to take on when it happened.

That foreknowledge, however, wasn’t quite enough to keep him from gaping when fingers squeezed tight around his arm to bring him face to face with his  _ husband _ .

There was a wince from King Alistair as he was all but marched out of the great hall, no matter his stutterings, but Bull—the bastard—only rose his own tankard up with a grin.

There was little hope for Dorian to outright force himself free, but, by the time the chill of the night air smacked him in the face, there was finally enough traction for him to dig his heels into. That, at least, was enough to give Cullen pause, for all he did so with a furious little huff.

Every scrap of training that Dorian had been dragged through was ordering him to make himself smaller, more demure. Anything that could make the Alpha before him forget, at least for a time, that he had any reason to be upset. 

So, of course, what wound up tumbling out of Dorian’s mouth was, “Well, that was quite the scene.”

“Quite the…” Cullen dropped Dorian’s arm at last, but it wasn’t any better to watch him spin away, face set into a grimace. “I realize I was not your choice. I… I  _ told _ you that. But, if you wish for others, I would prefer you at least allow me the grace of not having to see it.”

After all those efforts to raise his esteem, it only took a singular interaction with Cullen to scoop it all back out again. It was what propelled him to seize hold of the man’s shoulders before he even fully realized what he was after, swallowing down any hint of concern at the wide eyed alarm it earned him.

“I don’t want others, I want my husband!”

It had been humiliating to admit to himself, even worse when voiced aloud. He only managed a few steps back, however, before Cullen’s hands were settling around his wrists. The budding smile on the other man’s lips, gentle as it might be, only made it all worse.

All of it was enough to urge Dorian to be brutal, anything to break through that veneer of pacifism. But then Cullen had to speak.

“And you never thought I wanted the same?”

It took two long, slow blinks for Dorian to give into the urge to slam his hands against Cullen’s chest, fingers curling in to hold the other man tight even as Cullen stared at him—one patt amused and other oddly awestruck.

“Then  _ show _ me already, you insufferable man.”

Here was where the romance novels that Dorian certainly  _ hadn’t _ smuggled along with him, might have led him astray. Because while Cullen did scoop him up into his arms—actually managing to chuckle, somehow, at how Dorian flailed—there was no pressing up against walls or risky kisses shared out in the snow.

Instead, Cullen only deposited him back down when back in their own chambers, refusing to let Dorian rise until he had a chance to learn how the furs of the bed felt against bare skin. The hands that rose to fumble at the straps of Cullen’s own clothes, however, were carefully batted away.

“This isn’t about me,” was all Cullen would say, which seemed more than a little ridiculous with Dorian spread out like this. Or, perhaps, it was a way for Cullen to shun him even now.

There wasn’t supposed to be any greater temptation then an Omega like this, but that didn’t mean Dorian still might have gotten things wrong somehow. Perhaps there was a better position to be in, a different set of words he was supposed to say. Any of which might be explored if Cullen would just let him  _ up _ .

Except then Cullen was rising a leg up and over his shoulder, lips trailing down the skin until Dorian’s thoughts seemed to skip in tandem with his heart. No amount of sheltering from such activities could keep from not knowing what Cullen had to be planning. Not that was enough, apparently, to keep the gasp that broke free when Cullen’s mouth finally found true purchase being tinged with surprise. Although, given that any prior experience had come from his own hand alone, perhaps he could be forgiven for it.

This was something that left him squirming about in a way that he would feel far more inclined to feel self-conscious about, if Cullen was inclined to leave him any time to  _ think _ . Each time he thought he had grown used to a sensation, Cullen would come up with another one. So, truth be told, the Alpha only had himself to blame, if, by the time he had the head of Dorian’s cock nudging down his throat, that he didn’t like his shoulders being torn at.

It was the press of fingers that kept Dorian from flying apart entirely; a shiver running through him for an entirely new reason. There was only one thing he could be in need of being worked open for, after all—something that Cullen’s impressive build had had worked over Dorian’s anxiety for all sorts of different reasons. 

But then again, hadn’t he demanded this? And, perhaps, it was better to have it happen like this, while Cullen was more inclined to stare at him with copper eyes running warm and fingers pressing in until Dorian had no other choice but to cry out.

There were quite a different set of sounds he had to offer, however, when Cullen drew his mouth back, and none of them were very pleased. That his husband should only chuckle over such things only made the whole matter worse, in Dorian’s opinion. More than enough, honestly, to have him knocking his heel as solidly as he could manage against Cullen’s shoulder.

It had seemed to have gotten his way as well by the time Cullen dropped his head back down. Except, this time, Cullen nudged his head down lower, an odd sight right until something warm and  _ slick _ slid in alongside the fingers already pressed tight inside Dorian.

Before, Dorian had laughed at any novel that spoke of stars or dancing visions, but, as he broke apart, there was nothing but white light. By the time he came back down, it was to blinking tears out of his vision, the almost too sweet coo of Cullen’s voice as he worked his fingers free.

“You’re a mess.” There were lips pressed firmly to Dorian’s brow, even as his mouth worked desperately for a response, an apology. “Shush, shush, I would never claim that to be a bad thing.”

“I’m supposed to be…” Dorian wanted to swallow his own tongue then, but Cullen was staring at him so expectantly that he couldn’t help it. Not when his body felt inclined to melt into the bed with each gentle touch. “Supposed to be pretty for you. Want to be.”

That earned him a true kiss then; one that should have left him edging away from the taste of himself in Cullen’s mouth. Not that his husband left him with anywhere else to go. Even when Cullen pulled back, it was to gather him back up into his arms, tugging him up and out of the bed.

“You will always be the most gorgeous person I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Cullen murmured. “I can only do what I can to show my gratitude for such a gift. And to take care of you.”

Dorian watched through half lidded eyes as Cullen fiddled with the dials of the tub, already grateful for the promise of more warmth, as much as the promise of getting clean.

“Next time then,” he replied, “you’ll have to let me take you apart.”

For all Cullen’s pretty words, it was Dorian who felt like he received the best of gifts when his husband, one of the South’s most impressive Alphas, trembled against him.


End file.
